


Torn

by Toomanyfandoms99



Series: Adventures of Gabriel [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brotherly Love, Coma, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker Feels (Supernatural), Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanyfandoms99/pseuds/Toomanyfandoms99
Summary: Castiel held Gabriel’s small unconscious body with a stoic ease that shocked both hunters.  Castiel chose to focus his energy on Sam, who was frozen in place a few paces away.“Gabriel got in over his head,” Castiel said vaguely, a tiredness radiating throughout his entire being.  “I need the book of healing spells.”
Relationships: Castiel & Gabriel, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Series: Adventures of Gabriel [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1525019
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78





	Torn

Castiel flew inside the bunker, disturbing a quiet dinner shared between the Winchesters.

The contents in his arms had Sam rising to his feet rather quickly, his beer bottle and salad forgotten. His eyes embodied those of a kicked puppy, shining and blue and worried.

Dean stood up as well, observing the cut streaked across Gabriel’s smooth cheek. His gaze slid up to Castiel’s, and he asked gruffly, “what happened to him?”

Castiel held Gabriel’s small unconscious body with a stoic ease that shocked both hunters. Castiel chose to focus his energy on Sam, who was frozen in place a few paces away.

“Gabriel got in over his head,” Castiel said vaguely, a tiredness radiating throughout his entire being. “I need the book of healing spells.”

The command jolted Sam out of his unblinking stupor. He stepped behind him, rifling through the shelf until he found the requested item. He held the maroon-bound volume and followed Castiel towards the bunker medbay. Castiel descended the stairs slowly, not wanting to jostle Gabriel’s unseen injuries. Sam was right behind him, and Dean hovered in the background.

Castiel laid Gabriel out on the cot, giving orders to Dean as he searched through cupboards of medical supplies. Sam set the book on the nightstand and blinked down at Gabriel numbly. Castiel and Dean’s voices were garbled in his ears, his mind unable to see past the image he couldn’t stop staring at.

Gabriel’s boots were scuffed with soil and blood, coating the entire one-inch heel. His jeans were scuffed with mud and blood on the knees, a particularly large tear across the denim pocket below the belt. The shred nearly exposed his left thigh, thin strings providing what little modesty he had left. Another slash was prominent along the stomach of his gray tee, blood congealing on the army green jacket hastily thrown over the shirt. Pieces of fabric near the shoulders of the jacket were missing entirely, and Sam wondered if he went through a paper shredder. 

Gabriel’s face had a bleeding cut slicing across his right cheek, marring a smooth complexion and sharp jawline. A layer of filth also clogged his pores, the only delicateness to his features being the lightness to his eyelashes as he slept.

More than anything, Sam wanted to scrub Gabriel clean and wrap him in a large blanket. He wanted to hold Gabriel as he curled into Sam’s chest and fell asleep on Sam’s bed.

“-werewolf did this because he was trying to make a point.”

Sam gave himself whiplash as he studied Castiel’s profile. “That’s impossible.”

Dean stared between the two, clearing his throat to express discomfort. He made himself useful by collecting spell ingredients scattered about the room. 

Castiel appeared on the other side of Gabriel’s cot, gaze affixed to Sam. “How so?”

“A werewolf couldn’t have done this,” Sam beseeched, jaw clenching as he glanced at Gabriel’s paling pallor. “Gabe would never take a beating like this from an ordinary werewolf.”

“He was no ordinary werewolf,” Castiel said. “I was there.”

Dean appeared over Castiel’s shoulder, dangling a glass bottle with salve. Castiel plucked it from Dean’s hand as he drifted towards the herbs. Castiel moved the bottle between his fingers before unstopping it.

“This was the work of Lycaon,” Castiel said, brushing salve along Gabriel’s sliced cheek, “the first werewolf ever created.”

Sam’s gaze absorbed the sheer amount of cuts and tatters. “Even then,” he said hollowly, “Gabe is stronger.”

“You may think that,” Castiel murmured, “but you know how vulnerable he is sometimes.”

Sam chose not to think about what possibly could have happened that would result in staring at a tattered Gabriel. He watched silently as Castiel placed salve on Gabriel’s immeasurable wounds, Dean eventually handing Castiel a bowl of mixed herbs.

Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder. “Come on. We need to give Cas space.”

Sam realized that he missed Castiel’s original request to leave, and shuffled numbly after his brother. He ascended the stairs thoughtlessly and heard Dean shut the door behind him. Sam stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at the wispy pattern on the wooden floorboards.

He didn’t think Gabriel could get hurt quite this bad. He didn’t think Gabriel was ever in any danger of dying. But Gabriel’s face was so pale and broken that it burned in the back of Sam’s eyelids, an unrelenting image of pain. 

He breathed through his nose slowly, sticking his hands in his pockets. His arms made a shrugging motion, and it was an excuse to curl in on himself a little. He imagined he was covered with a blanket instead of a cheap ratty flannel. The false warmth did him no good in the bunker’s natural chill.

“Sammy?”

Sam blinked down, realizing his brother was standing in front of him. Green eyes were wide and concerned as he regarded Sam’s shrunken stature.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Dean said, a tad uncomfortable at the topic of discussion. “He’s an archangel.”

Sam blew air out of his mouth, feeling increasingly lightheaded. “If you say so,” he replied weakly.

Dean searched Sam’s face frantically, studying him as he never had before. Or at least not in several years, when Sam was still young and sought out his older brother’s help.

In a quick maneuver, Dean tucked an arm around Sam’s side and reeled him in. Sam’s head was tucked near Dean’s shoulder, and the hug he was captured in painted Dean as a fatherly figure. Gruff on the outside, sweet on the inside. Sam knew from observing him over the past months that it was Castiel who encouraged Dean to voice his feelings.

“I know how you pray whenever times get tough,” Dean said softly, “and I usually give you a hard time about it, but now’s the time to pray, Sammy.”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut to prevent water from slipping down his cheeks. He leaned into Dean, and thought about the prayer he always said to himself in difficult times. He repeated the sentences over and over in his head, until the door screeched open.

Castiel said nothing as Sam nudged away from Dean, moisture still wetting his eyes. Both brothers examined Castiel’s expression, and found that neither could discern his emotions. 

His tan trench coat was removed from his shoulders, revealing a crisp white dress shirt scuffed with dirt. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, a minuscule streak of mud and blood remaining on Castiel’s knuckles, even though he washed his hands hastily with a rag to wipe away the grime. Castiel’s tanned skin was dark enough to look sunburnt, as if he flew a bit too close to the sun or a star; Sam didn’t know what angels did when they flew to different dimensional planes. Sad salient eyes and a beaten-down expression was normal for Castiel, but a tinge of curiosity glinted beside his pupils.

“The spell is healing him,” Castiel said, “but something strange happened.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What?” He exhaled, his entire being snapping back to life.

“A moment after the spell was complete, for the slightest seconds,” Castiel regarded Sam, “his eyes opened before closing again. He said your name.”

Sam forgot how to breathe. 

“He’ll live,” Castiel lowered his voice to express gentleness and concern, “but it wasn’t the spell that caused him to wake.”

The ominousness coated along the edge of the sentence had Sam exhale slowly through his mouth.

Dean’s gaze was burning into his profile, and Sam’s vision blurred until all he saw was the whiteness of Castiel’s shirt and the bronzeness of his skin and the blue stripes of his tie.

“-that you want to tell me about, Dean?”

Sam blinked, his vision filmy and blurry. He blinked again, his vision sharpening and clearing. He blinked a few more times, until he saw the detailing of the dark hairs on Castiel’s bare lower arms.

“-prayed and I know that it sounds-”

“-not one to say it didn’t work.”

Sam tilted his head sharply to the side, breaking a quiet moment between Dean and Castiel. They had stepped very close to one another, and Sam wondered if either of them had even noticed. An infinite fondness was present in Dean’s gaze, despite the topic of conversation. Castiel’s worldly weariness had since disappeared, but concern for his older brother was a thick layer over his face. Not even Dean could pierce through it, not that he was trying.

Their heavy eye contact broke as Sam turned his head abruptly. Four eyes, green and blue, studied him as if he were an experiment, or perhaps the younger brother that always got in the way of their amorous foreplay.

“Did you pray, Sam?” Castiel asked, his voice coming out parched. As if Dean’s close proximity finally registered to him and all the moisture was sucked into the crevices of his mouth, drier than a desert.

Sam pursed his lips, and with conviction that rose from nowhere in particular, he nodded.

Castiel plucked his mind from a dazed headspace. He stepped away from Dean, forcibly yanking himself from Dean’s orbit. The Earth and the sun forced to tear their affair apart. Castiel was back to normal with a single bat of his eyelashes, his features tightening with worry.

“Gabriel’s sleeping,” he said, “but I think you should stay near him. Your prayer worked.”

Sam ducked his head, refusing to ruminate on what that might mean, for him and for Gabriel.

Instead, he brushed past Castiel and opened the door he didn’t hear close. He descended the stairs and walked to the cot. Gabriel’s injuries were indeed sealed, and Sam poured the burnt herbs into the trash, brushing dust away from the brown clay bowl. He set it in the cupboard and made a note to wash it sometime soon.

“Mmm,” a dry voice hummed.

Sam froze, then whirled around.

Gabriel’s eyes were open slightly, slivers of golden brown peeking through long lashes.

Sam was at the cot in a single breathless bound, lowering to a crouch. “Gabe,” he said in disbelief. His gaze fluttered to Gabriel’s cheek, a thin red line ruining smooth skin. “Gabe.”

Sam’s palm touched Gabriel’s scarred cheek before he registered he was doing it, tipping one side of his head against the pillow. He snapped his hand back when he realized it might still hurt, as if he had stuck his palm on flaming coals. He decided to smooth back Gabriel’s hair instead, which was getting quite long. He brushed back strands covering his face, and Gabriel studied Sam lazily.

Gabriel pushed his cheek towards Sam’s palm, finding a semblance of comfort in it. He didn’t move his head position, one cheek remaining pressed against the pillow. He hummed, then murmured shakily, “why do I feel so weird?”

“It’s called severe blood loss,” Sam said sardonically. What was meant to sound lighthearted, though, came out as harsh and concerned.

Gabriel winced. “I know you said,” he sighed, and his entire being melted into the bed, “I’m sorry.” His eyes darted away, his voice cracking. “I feel like a broken record.”

Sam threw caution to the wind and leaned close, until his nose nudged Gabriel’s. He felt rather than saw Gabriel’s lashes flutter up, examining the shadows and nuances of Sam’s pores.

Sam pressed his lips against Gabriel’s chapped ones, and a smile crept up on Gabriel’s face.

“Still love me, huh?” He breathed.

Sam hummed his affirmative reply.

They stayed close for several minutes, neither speaking. Sam eventually rose up to get Gabriel a glass of water. Castiel descended the stairs a little while later, flushed from kissing Dean. Castiel said nothing about Gabriel’s sudden wakefulness, sending Sam a look and scolding Gabriel for being an idiot. Gabriel had a quip ready, as usual, and Sam allowed himself to smile.

Nothing could keep Gabriel down for very long, and to Sam, that made his boyfriend something special.

By the next day, Gabriel was up and walking again. He wasn’t well enough to leave, so Sam confined him to the bunker. Gabriel did not protest once, and the knowledge had heat rushing to Sam’s cheeks.

Gabriel stayed in Sam’s room with him, Dean surprisingly not mentioning it. If there was any time it was expected for Dean to make a fuss, it was now.

But Dean would be a hypocrite if he didn’t allow an angel to stay in Sam’s room for a few days.

That night, Gabriel scrubbed clean from his wounds at long last, he reappeared in a robe that was several sizes too big for him. Since it covered him up adequately, he didn’t mind sinking into Sam’s embrace. Sam held him like he had been hoping for ever since Castiel carried in Gabriel, kissing his boyfriend’s forehead as he slept peacefully.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


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